I'm still wide awake.

 “What if all the beautiful people were disgusting, and the prettier the more disgusting? We would have a totally different view of beauty then.”

Ju: “…First we would have to define disgusting.”

I have been having variations of this conversation with others (and my own very noisy brain) over these past few days. How do we define a trait? How do we decide how to categorize people into little clusters based on a selection of characteristics? Stereotypically, an extrovert is seen to be outgoing, ready to try new things, someone who loves having company. But why can’t an extrovert also be shy and feel alone in the world? Must they always be bold and friendly in new situations? Why can’t an extrovert enjoy singular yet adventurous sports? Why can’t an introvert be bold and outspoken? Who decided that if you were one, you could not be the other? That Extroversion and Introversion were polar traits that cannot co-exist in a person? Why can’t a person be logical and creative? Shallow and silly in some things yet deep in other ways? Beautiful, yet have disgusting traits? And so on. Psychology allows for so many theories on this, but the one I subscribe to is that personality traits are a continuum—like many fine tuning levels that you can adjust with various possible combinations. Because there aren’t just five or six or eight types of people in the world. Personality tests are helpful, insightful, but sometimes I think they perpetuate stereotypes among those who don’t truly understand that a test cannot measure everything a person was, is and will be. Tests are just guides. The words used to described a person are so general at times, and often a person leaks other categories. Stereotypes are just quick assumptions we make about others because we cant be bothered to take the time to get to truly know them. Instead, we want them to fit the rules and schema of our world and forget that they are unique and contradictory creatures.

But back to the discussion of beauty and disgusting traits. Let us say disgusting traits vary from picking your nose, wearing the same underwear every day without washing it for weeks to things that are socially looked down on and disgraceful. Let us then say that beauty is something that we are attracted to, that is appealing to us. If the beautiful were disgusting, and open about their various flaws and bad habits how drastically will this affect the way we the general public views beauty? Would it change? This is a long stretch but if the media were truthful about the flaws, failures, mistakes and dirty, disgusting things that everyone, even the beautiful commit, would we still have the same obsession with beauty? Would we accept that perfection is a concept, abstract, and indefinable? Would we realize that flaws are normal, and that the beautiful are normal and not some being that can do no wrong? Would we realize in increments that we are beautiful too in our own way? We are obsessed with the lives and scandals of the rich and famous, perhaps because their flaws humanize them to a standard that makes it alright for us to have flaws and make mistakes too. It brings them down to our level, so that they no longer tower over us with their beauty. If imperfections could be accepted as something that lives alongside beauty, would the disgusting be beautiful as well?  Because after all, who said that the pretty can't be disgusting, and the disgusting pretty? Our definitions would change I think, if we can accept such loose concepts. 

moving on

It helps to wake up with thoughts about lavender.

For these past months, I have been in a state of limbo. It might have been years. I don’t think I have ever been too detached from numbness to differentiate when I am not in such a state. But I have been drowning, being pulled by inches deeper into the currents of nothingness with each dreary month. I have felt for the longest time that I was a page of written words whose ink was fading with time. I was losing my sense of self. In small degrees, I still am I think. I’m not too sure who I am exactly.

There was once a time where I was independent to my very core. I didn’t require company. I could do very well on my own. I could socialize when necessary, and take the step forward to be friendly. I think I have been fading for a while now. The opportunity that homeschooling gave, the opportunity to run from the oppressiveness of high school, has left I think its own dire effects. It gave me freedom; I did not have to face the darker, meaner side of myself. I removed myself from the environment that perpetuated that. I planted myself in a secluded sanctuary that was fill with children too young to really play the games I used to. There were no power games, no manipulation, and no backstabbing lies to the degree I was familiar with. It was a relief. But I think I held me back as well. I was worried for a long time about being left alone. Where was the independent girl then? I was never one to force my opinion on others, but surely, surely I used to stand up for what I believed in and for my friends? When did I grow meek?

So perhaps the fact that I am now divided from the friends I cling to in college is a blessing in disguise. They are great friends, friends that I have felt closer to than ones I have known my whole childhood. Don’t misunderstand me. But having to make new friends all over again left me dreading university. So the separation in many ways was necessary. We will meet up for lunches and talk, but we will never share the same classes again. We won’t spend hours in each others’ company. There is something sad in that. But I am realising I can’t grow if I cling to the same people for the rest of my life. I spent the first few days with people whom I thought only tolerated my friendship out of courtesy, only to now seeing the potential in these budding friendships. I made new friends, separate from the previous group. I’m hoping I can keep this up. Because I haven’t been this bubbly, this friendly, in a long, long while. There’s a lack of reservation in this new self of mine. And I can’t express how glad I am that I am not holding myself back, that my fears aren’t holding me captive. I don’t get as embarrassed as easily. I’m opening up. When have I not felt embarrassed by my every mistake?

I am holding my own.

I still feel numb. But at least there’s now a sense of relief that accompanies it.